


A Warm Breath in Cold Air

by Anyonesguess



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Ada Wong (mention) - Freeform, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Anxiety, Aparantly my trope is 'sad man is comforted and then goes to bed and all is well.', Ashley Grahm (Mention, Chris is slightly ill, Claire Redfield (Mention) - Freeform, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Fluff with sort of plot?, Fluff without Plot, Hurt/Comfort, I don't know how alcohol works, It's a plot device mostly, Leon gets drunk, Luis Sera (mention), M/M, Marvin Branaugh (Mention), Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, One Shot, Post RE Vendetta, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, RE vendetta, Resident Evil 2, Resident Evil 4, Resident Evil vendetta - Freeform, Resident evil 2 mention, Sick Character, Sickfic, Sort of? - Freeform, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Trauma, resident evil 4 mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-20
Updated: 2019-03-20
Packaged: 2019-11-26 00:16:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18173327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anyonesguess/pseuds/Anyonesguess
Summary: Late at night, Leon arrives at his home, ready to black out after the New York incident and a long day of debriefing. However, the universe has other plans for him when Chris Redfield shows up on his door at one AM, with paper work and a slight fever, interrupting his plans but possibly saving him from something else.(it’s fluff, just pure, hurt/comfort fluff)





	A Warm Breath in Cold Air

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently when I write fluff, what I write is ‘traumatized men are comforted and then go to bed and sleep and all is good.’ That's just, apparently my trope. ANYWAY, hope y'all enjoy.

The rain wasn’t a welcome change. It came down in sheets as Leon climbed out of the taxi, his shoulder still aching. It had been dislocated when the big guy had chucked him, and he’d nicked the wall, but it had been easy enough to pop back into place. He was technically meant to be wearing a sling, but he didn’t want the hassle. He paid the driver and staggered to his door, fumbling for his keys. By the time he got inside, he was drenched, his long bangs sticking to his face. He sighed, chucking his keys on the entryway table. He heard the bell like sound as they landed but didn’t see, instead dragging himself up the stairs. 

He shivered slightly, his clothes drenched and cold. He had always been a bit cold blooded, typically having a jacket or coat on him, but ever since Raccoon City, he hadn’t been able to get warm enough to his liking. It was like the rain of that night had sunk into his bones, lingering like the things he saw, the nightmares. He just wanted to get out of these clothes and lay down. He pushed the door of the bedroom open, shucking his jacket, then the rest of his clothes. He didn’t bother to move them, letting them lay in a heap on the ground. He didn’t bother with a lot of things, really. He knew he should eat, and shower, and a long list of other basic needs, but he just wanted to sleep after the fiasco that had been New York. So much for his vacation. 

It was dark out, marking nearly 48 hours since he had last slept. They’d kept him long, the BSAA debriefing him, then the DSO. Why they couldn’t play nice and do it at the same fucking time, he would never know. But nonetheless, he told the story twice, more irritated with every word. His shoulder had hurt, his head had hurt, he’d wanted a drink. They’d finally let him go, and he’d spent the long ride to his townhouse just outside of DC wondering if they would let him keep the rest of his vacation. They hadn’t said anything, but he figured he would get a call from Hunnigan in the morning with yet another mission. 

He fell into bed in nothing but his boxers, pulling the absurd pile of blankets on top of him. He found the button for the heating pad with his foot, tapping it on. It didn’t take long for the bed to warm up. He sighed, the heat soothing his aching muscles. He wondered how ridiculous it must look, one of the world's top agents, a biohazard specialist and survivor of Raccoon City, huddled under a pile of blankets in nothing but his underwear. He chuckled softly before pulling the blankets over his head and letting his eyes slide shut. 

He was nearly asleep when the doorbell rang. 

Leon opened his eyes, blinking blearily. He grabbed his phone to check the time. 12:47 AM. Barley 30 minutes since he’d gotten home. He groaned, dropping his phone back on the bedside table. He ignored the bell, hoping perhaps whoever was at the door would realize that it was one in the fucking morning and then proceed to kindly fuck the fuck off. He pulled the blankets back over his head, turning on his side, when the bell rang again. Then again. Whoever it was, they were a persistent bastard, he’d give them that. Eventually, he threw the blankets off, his skin prickling at the cool air. He sat up, rubbing his face before standing. The doorbell continued ringing as he rummaged through the dresser, trying to find pants, and maybe a shirt. He grabbed sweatpants and a t-shirt, throwing them on before stomping down the stairs. 

God, whoever it was he was going to fucking shoot them, then shoot whoever sent them. He didn’t bother looking through the peephole, just throwing the door open and yelling 

“What?!” 

Chris Redfield blinked in surprise. He was drenched from the rain, which had somehow worsened since Leon had gotten home. His face was flushed, and Leon hoped he was embarrassed for obviously having woken him up, interrupting his vacation, yet again. 

“Ah, Sorry.” Chris muttered, holding up a manila envelope. Its corners had started to dampen from the rain. Leon frowned. Did they really send the BSAA’s fucking Golden Boy to bring him the paperwork he had ‘forgotten’ on his desk? At one in the fucking morning? 

“Hunnigan asked me to bring this to you, she said it was urgent.” 

Leon snatched the folder out of Chris’s hand, eyeing it over. Yup, the same paperwork he had intentionally left, planning to deal with it when he wasn’t, you know, supposed to be on vacation. 

“Why the hell did they send you?” 

Chris scratched the back of his neck. He was still flushed, which seemed odd to Leon. 

“It was on the way, so she hoped I could just drop it off.” 

Leon scowled, 

“You couldn’t have just left it in my mailbox? Or waited until tomorrow?” 

“I, uhhh-- I guess I just didn’t think of that.” 

Something was off. Chris looked pale, paler than normal. It made the flush of his cheeks stand out significantly more. A realization dawned on Leon. Without thinking, and he would later blame this on the lack of sleep, he reached up and touched Chris’s face. He barely needed to touch his skin before Leon’s suspicion was confirmed. 

“Uh--” Chris’s froze at the touch. 

Leon’s brow furrowed as he drew his hand back, 

“You’re hot.” He said. 

Chris stood there silently, his mouth open in confusion, before he spoke

“I-- Leon I’m flattered, but--” 

Leon’s eyes widening as he realized what he had just said. 

“Shit. No, I mean, I think you have a fever.” 

“Oh-oh,” Chris mumbled, feeling his own forehead, then looking at his hand as though he expected to see blood. Given their line of work, the reaction didn’t surprise Leon. Leon also realized he wasn’t going to be able to go back to bed as easily as he had hoped. While Chris had said this was on his way, Leon didn’t know were too. He didn’t think Chris lived nearby. He sighed, opening the door all the way. 

“Probably ought to get out of the rain.”

Chris looked at Leon uncertain, an eyebrow raised. Leon pursed his lips and gestured harshly inside. 

Chris warily stepped in, trying to make his massive frame as small as possible. It didn’t work particularly well, Leon having to press against the wall as Chris passed by. Leon pushed the door closed as Chris looked around the entryway. 

Leon brushed past him gesturing to the living room, 

“Go sit down.” 

Leon walked into the kitchen without waiting to make sure Chris did as he asked. Based on the soft thud of footsteps he assumed he did. Leon filled a glass of water and brought it to Chris. He took it gingerly, still looking somewhat shocked to be in Leon’s home. He hadn’t said anything since he’d entered. 

Leon walked down the hall to the bathroom. He thought he had some ibuprofen in there. As he looked for it he called down the hall. 

“You eat yet?” 

“No.” 

Leon sighed. What were you supposed to give people who were sick? Soup or some shit? He honestly wasn’t sure what he had in his house. Due to an endless cycle of missions he was rarely here, and he had intended to be on vacation for another week, so groceries were somewhat light. He found the ibuprofen, walking down the hall and chucking it at Chris. He caught it, looking it over as Leon walked back into the kitchen. 

This was not how he had intended to spend his… well it was morning now, he supposed. He was always joking about not making plans, he guessed this is what he got for it, Redfield interrupting his… whatever. He threw open the cupboard to look around, spying some old bread, a bottle of whiskey, and a couple cans of tomato soup. Well that was something. He grabbed the soup, and started making it, stifling a yawn. If nothing else at least this got him to eat something too. 

He finished cooking, pouring the soup into two bowls. He could only find one spoon for some reason, electing to forgo one for himself and just drink it. He carried the soup back into the living room. He had meant to tell Chris to turn on the TV and find something to watch, but that apparently hadn’t been a problem. Chris was passed out on the couch. 

Leon set the bowls of soup down on the coffee table, eyeing Chris over. His head was lolled back, mouth open slightly. He was snoring gently. It sounded like he had a cold, nothing serious, just annoying as shit. Hopefully it was the kind he could shake after a couple days of decent sleep. 

Leon yawned again, reminded of his own sleep deprivation, before nudging Chris with his foot. Chris blinked awake, looking around in mild confusion before seeing Leon. He cleared his throat, sitting up, obviously still somewhat uncomfortable with the situation. His face looked less red, however, so Leon assumed that was a good sign. 

Leon pointed to the soup before sitting down in the arm chair and turning on the TV. He slouched down in the chair, crossing his legs over the armrest. 

“I appreciate it, but why are you doing this?” 

Leon snorted, “What, I can’t be nice?” 

He didn’t look at Chris but could hear the spoon clinking against the bowl. Leon didn’t touch his own, he wasn’t particularly hungry anyway. He rarely was recently. 

He flicked through the channels, eventually settling on some cop show. 

Chris chuckled, 

“Reliving the glory days?” 

Leon didn’t say anything. The room was heavy with it, even with the sound of the TV and Chris eating. After a while he spoke up. 

“I wonder what would have happened sometimes, ya know? If I had ended up getting there a couple days earlier.” 

Chris didn’t say anything, but Leon heard him set the bowl down. 

“Like, the virus was in the water, it’s how it spread so fast. If I had been there, I dunno, a week earlier, would I have turned into one of those things? Would someone have come through the police station, seen me as one of those and shot me? Claire maybe. Hell maybe, Jill, she was there.”

He didn’t look away from the TV, not really even seeing it. Instead, he saw the faces of the people who were supposed to be his comrades, rotted and dead as he shot them down, wave after wave. 

“Coulda been me.” 

Leon swallowed, his throat tight. He didn’t know why he was thinking about it. He’d faced a lot since Raccoon, much worse things. He’d been thrown, choked, stabbed, shot, even infected with shit, but for some reason, that was what was sticking in his mind tonight. Maybe it was seeing Rebecca almost succumb to the A-Virus. Maybe it was still the events of the DC terrorist attack still fresh in his mind. Whatever it was, it wasn’t going to let go of him. Nothing ever did. He stayed up most nights, wondering how it was that he always survived and what would happen when he inevitably didn’t. 

Chris cleared his throat, again. 

“You should eat.” 

“Not that hungry. You can have it if you want.” Leon muttered. 

He heard Chris pick up the bowl, expecting to hear him begin eating it, but instead, he felt a nudge on his shoulder. He looked over lazily to see Chris’s hand on his shoulder, the bowl of soup in his other. Chris gave him an expectant look. 

Leon rolled his eyes but took the bowl. He took sips of it as he watched the show. 

“Did you not want to dirty anymore dishes?” Chris asked, 

Leon snorted again, “Nah, I just only had the one spoon.”

“Why the hell do you only have one spoon?” 

“The hell should I know?” Leon scoffed, “I’m only here, what, couple days a month? Honestly, no fucking clue what's in here half the time. We’re lucky I had the soup.” 

Chris chuckled, and Leon saw him shake his head out of the corner of his eye. 

“Thank you, Leon.” 

Leon shrugged, setting the soup bowl down on the table, still half full. It was all Leon felt he could stomach. 

“No problem. Can’t have the BSAA’s poster boy out of commission, can we?” 

“I’m not talking about that. Well, I mean, I am, but not entirely. I know we interrupted your... Vacation. I’m sorry about what happened to your unit, I know how hard that is. I appreciate that you sacrificed your time to help us, especially after what you said at the inn.” 

Leon was tired of people thanking him for just doing his job. It was the only thing he seemed to be good for, anyway, putting bullets in things that wouldn’t stay dead. Felt like it was all he’d done for the past 20 years. Maybe all he’d ever do. He closed his eyes and let out a sigh. He felt incredibly tired. 

“Like I said. Not a problem.” 

With that, he stood up from the chair, limply gesturing behind Chris’s head. 

“You can sleep here if you want. Should be blankets in that chest back there. I’m goin’ to bed.” 

He started walking towards the stairs, hearing Chris stand up behind him. 

“Good night, Leon.” 

“Night” Leon mumbled back. 

\-----------------------------------------------------------

Leon never woke from nightmares with a start. He never didn’t know where he was, but it was an agonizing wake. It was slow, like he was clawing his way back out of the hell. The nightmares left him shaking, a taste in his mouth like something had died there, bittersweet and rotten. Much like the cold, he knew the taste and the dreams would linger for the rest of the day no matter how much whiskey he swallowed. 

He still shook as he sat up, glancing at his phone. 3:58 AM. Less than two hours. He took a ragged breath, willing his hands to stop trembling, remembering the bottle he had spied in the cabinet. It wasn't much, but maybe it would soften the taste in his mouth and the weight on his chest. He stood, staggering, breathing tight and heart racing. Fuck, he was cold. He grabbed a hoodie and threw it on, but it did almost nothing to ease the ever-present chill. 

Cautiously, so as not to wake his guest, he padded down the stairs and into the kitchen. He didn’t bother to turn on a light, quietly pulling the whiskey from the cabinet and then trying to find a glass. His hands were shaking more as he tried to bring it down. It slipped, and he gasped, a chasm on a collapsing walkway, a woman in red falling to her seeming death before him instead of a glass. It crashed, shattering on the ground and he was back. He shook harder, violently. Fuck it, he didn’t need a glass, pulling off the cap on the bottle and knocking it back, downing several swallows, nearly chugging it. It burned his throat and eased the rotten feeling. He hopped with enough of it, it would ease the memories too. 

He turned, pushing his back against the cabinet and sliding to the floor, not even caring if he cut himself on the broken glass. He still shook as he took another drink, his breathing starting to ease as his body warmed from alcohol. 

The light flipped on and Leon glanced up, his head lolling against the back of the cabinet. 

“Jesus, Leon” Chris exclaimed. . 

Leon laughed, lowering his head. What a sight he must be, 

“Where’s the broom?” Chris asked, looking at the broken glass on the floor. His voice was slightly naisily, Leon realized sluggishly. Right, he had a cold. 

Leon shrugged, forming words carefully around the taste in his mouth

“Dunno. Closet?” 

“Why don’t you know where anything is in your house?” Chris grumbled as he walked off. 

Leon took another long drink as Chris left, then another, and then another. Chris came back with a broom in the middle of the fourth and swiped the bottle out of Leon’s hand, though it was empty by then anyway. 

“Hey!” Leon gasped as the bottle left his hand, the word wavering just a touch from the whiskey. He realized he was drunker than he had expected. It was only one bottle and his tolerance was fairly high for someone his size, but he hadn’t eaten much of anything or even slept in the past two days. Whatever. Maybe he’d sleep better if he was a just a tad drunker than intended. Wasn’t nearly enough to make him blackout. 

He watched Chris clean up the broken glass. He ought to tell him he didn’t need to, that Leon could do it in the morning, but he didn’t have the energy to form the words. Instead, he just watched, appreciating the view. 

Regardless of what Leon had meant earlier, he did have to admit that Chris was hot. He was huge, significantly bigger than Leon, and 80% of it was thick, absurd muscle. He could see them flex as he swept up the glass, could see every muscle of his thighs and ass as he squat to sweep the glass into a dustpan. He had a good face too, a face that was somehow kind and gentle after being through hell and back 10 times over. He finished with the glass, dumping it in the trash before looking Leon over, hands on his hips, brow furrowed. 

“I thought I told you to cut that shit.” 

Leon waved a hand dismissively, head lolling to the other side, away from Chris. 

“Sorry boss, no can do on that one.” He sneered

He heard Chris walk over to him but didn’t bother to look, expecting to be chastised further. Instead, he felt hands on him, before his body was no longer on the floor, arms around his back and under his legs. Leon yelped, kicking out instinctually and grabbing Chris’s neck. 

“Woah, woah, hey, what the fuck?” He slurred, as Chris lifted him with ease. 

“You are going to bed.” Chris deadpanned, beginning to carry Leon towards the stairs

“I can get there myself, you prick!” 

Leon squirmed, escaping Chris’s arms, which he was momentarily proud of. He landed, staggering slightly. He caught himself on the wall, but it didn’t seem to help much. Huh, yeah, he was a lot drunker than he had expected. Chris caught him, pulling him up before he could face plant into the stairs. 

“If I had known you'd intended to get plastered, I would have made you eat the rest of the soup.” 

“Wasn’t hungry, ‘n I don’t--” 

“Yeah , yeah, you don’t plan that far ahead. And when are you hungry?” he muttered the last part under his breath, before asking, more seriously “What was the last thing you even ate?” 

Leon struggled to remember but trying to think was like bobbing for apples, he’d get close to a thought and it would float away. 

“Breakfast?” he finally answered. 

“Was that an answer to the first question or the second?” 

“Uh, both.” 

Chris sighed. He grabbed Leon’s arm, pulling it over his shoulder and then started leading him up the stairs. Leon refused to let Chris do all the work, his pride was one of the few parts of his mind that was uninhibited, possibly even bolstered. It took far more focus than he would have liked to admit, making his legs walk up the stairs in any steady fashion. 

Leon wished he had more whiskey, knowing at this point even if he tried to sleep, the nightmares would just return as they normally did, the taste of them already ruminating in the back of his throat. He tried to swallow it down, his mouth feeling sticky and bitter. Maybe if he couldn’t drown it away with alcohol he could with other things. 

They got to the bedroom, Chris pushing the door open when Leon kissed him sloppily, limply trying to pull him to the bed. Chris made a noise of surprise and anger, then pushed Leon away, forgetting momentarily that Leon, in more ways than one, was not a balanced person. Leon fell on his ass, somewhat confused as to how he got there, then decided to just flop on the floor. 

“Leon, what the hell?!” Chris yelled, 

“Fuck me.” Leon exclaimed from the floor. Even he was unsure if it was a request or an insult. 

Chris shook his head in his hand, rubbing his temples and sighing with exasperation. 

“Leon, I -- No, Absolutely not. We are not having sex while I have a cold and you’re drunk of your mind.” 

Leon laughed stupidly, “So you’re not saying you wouldn’t fuck me?” 

Chris looked at him incredulously, mouth agape. 

“What the hell is wrong with you?” 

Leon often wondered that himself. 

Chris reached down to grab him, and Leon squirmed away. 

“Get your hands off of me!” 

“Are you planning to sleep on the floor?” 

“Maybe? I can do what I want. My house ‘n shit.” 

The floor was not really comfortable, just hard and cold. It felt like it was leaching what little heat he had in him. He wanted to move, to scream, to hurt something, he was angry, drunk, and so damn tired of being alone. He didn’t want Chris to touch him if he wasn’t going to fuck him senseless, but he also didn’t want him to leave, didn’t want to be alone with his thoughts. He had no idea how to rectify this. He threw his arm over his eyes, his throat tight again as the taste rose up in his mouth like vomit. 

“I’m tired.” He finally said, 

“Then go to bed.” Chris sounded tired too, frustrated and done putting up with Leon’s shit. Leon didn’t blame him, he was also done with putting up with his shit. He was an absolute disaster. 

“Can’t. Won’t help.” His voice broke slightly as he said it. 

It was silent, Leon lying on the floor, Chris perched on the bed. Leon wondered if they were just going to stay that way for the rest of the night. He felt like maybe he preferred it, at least something living was in the room with him, present and warm, even if he wasn’t. He really was tired, of all of it. Almost twenty god damned years of hell on earth, and every time he closed his eyes it rushed up to greet him. And the thing about it was, they were never in order, they didn’t care what was real or not, only that they were and that he had seen them. He would see Ashley slip from his grasp over a chasm, Claire’s head explode as a parasite tore through her body, Luis eviscerated by lickers, Ada’s face rotten and dead and trying to bring him with her. He saw Marvin stabbed through the chest by a spined tail, Chris crushed under the hands of that first tyrant. He saw so many dead faces, names he would never be able to give them but people who had lived and breathed and died none the less, and then their deaths were made a mockery of. He wondered if they knew what they were, if they knew who they had been. He wondered if one day he would become one of them, join them, until someone blew his head off. He wondered if it would hurt, if he would understand, if he would be afraid or thankful or if he would just be dead and gone and empty. He wondered if what he did mattered, when the dead things kept coming back, when the virus’s returned with them, when every attack he stopped there were two more he couldn’t and thousands of people dead, empty and lost. Like cancer, it would spread down his throat and chest until it filled him up and it was all he could think, or feel, or see. It filled him until it was his everything. 

He was trembling again, violently, and he felt tears stinging his eyes, glad he had covered his face, so Chris couldn’t see. He must have made some noise, a whimper or something similar to alert the other person in the room, because suddenly he was being gently lifted of the ground. He didn’t bother to resist, both arms drooping, drained of any fight he had left. 

He expected Chris to pick him up and drop him unceremoniously in the bed before leaving him, alone and cold. But he didn’t. Instead he sat back down on the bed, still holding Leon, who had gone almost entirely limp in his arms. Chris was warm, not as hot as he had been earlier, but a nice, natural warmth. Leon felt his muscles relax into it, the pressure and heat of Chris’s body against his back returning a bit of life to him. Leon sighed, eyes closing and the twitch of a small smile forming on his face. It felt nice, chasing away the ache of what he was used too. It stayed like that, silent, Chris just holding Leon in the dark room. Eventually, Chris did speak. 

“I think you’re asleep, and I doubt you’d remember this tomorrow even if you weren’t” Chris started. Leon didn’t have the energy to correct him on the sleeping part, though he honestly wasn’t sure how much longer he would be awake or even if he would remember. He just listened, in a daze at the warmth and unexpectedly gentle treatment. 

“You’re not alone, Leon. I know you think you are, but there are people who care about you. Please, stop torturing yourself. It hurts to see you like this.” 

Leon felt Chris’s hand move up and begin stroking his hair. His eyelids fluttered slightly, and he leaned into the touch. Chris chuckled at that, 

“Maybe not entirely asleep, then.” 

Chris sighed, shifting Leon’s weight mostly onto the bed, but with still enough contact that Leon didn’t stir, far too comfortable for that now. He kept petting Leon’s hair, each stroke bringing Leon closer to sleep. He could feel Chris’s face close to his own, warm breath on his ear as Chris whispered. 

“You’re an incredible person, I admire you for the things you’ve done and who you are. I want to see you smile, and not just out of cynicism or irony, but because you’re happy. I want to help you get through this. If you need me, I’m here.” 

He stopped stroking Leon’s hair, who stirred slightly at that. He was half asleep, but he still wanted to be touched. Chris moved off the bed, pulling the blankets over Leon. When Chris moved, the cold came back, slowly creeping into Leon’s body. The urgency of wanting, needing, the gentle warmth beside him gave him just enough energy. Drowsily, he reached his hand out, lightly gripping Chris’s arm. There wasn’t much strength to it, but it was enough to catch his attention. Leon’s eyelids were heavy, but he struggled to open them, and keep them open, to look at Chris. He gave what he hoped was a pleading look, 

“No. Stay.” He mumbled, not moving his head from where it lay. 

Chris smiled softly, a light chuckle escaping him. 

“Okay.” 

Just as gently as before, he lifted Leon, moving him over ever so slightly before climbing into the bed beside him. Leon sighed once more, relief at the idea of not being alone, just this once. Chris laid down, wrapping his arms around Leon and pulling the blankets up yet again. Leon turned towards him, nuzzling into Chris’s chest, relaxing into the warmth. He felt Chris relax too, resting his chin on Leon’s head. He felt his heart beat and slow, steady breathing, lulling Leon into a soft and wondrously dreamless sleep. For the first night in far too long, the cold never crept back into him.

**Author's Note:**

> Aight, Idk how alcohol works, so uh, yeah. just pretend it makes sense shhhh. Anyway, hope you guys enjoyed, I really liked writing this, I love writing hurt comfort, and jesus Leon needs it so bad, that poor idiot man. I love him, someone give him a hug. Also all my fics end with or have a section where someone is taking a nap or going to sleep, because my solution to problems is to either, take a nap, go for a walk, or cry, so uhhh yeah lol.


End file.
